


Down By Law

by andquitefrankly



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Except they're called The Odinsons, I'm going to stop now, M/M, Oral Sex, Tony is a 1950s rock and roller, Tony's a vietnam war vet with a hole in his chest who's music is way outdated, and Thor and Loki are basically like Simon and Garfunkel or Peter and Gordon, and drugs have entered the fic, and he keeps running into Loki, and i apologize, and sexy times, because rockers, but not explicit sexy times, but not yet, but there will be implied sexy times, cause i can't write that, cause nobody is listening to Hound Dog or That'll Be the Day in 1965, i'm pretty sure the tags are longer than this fic, now with sex, oh ho ho ho, thats like chapter three, there will be drug and alcohol abuse, these tags have gotten ridiculous, think Elvis but better, to be precise, unless someone will save me and write sexy times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nearly a decade since Tony Stark released an LP. A war veteran and a rock and roll founder to boot, he's not the man he used to be, or the musician anyone wants on their radio. The Odinsons, a rock duo fresh off the boat, are what people want. In order to make his way back on the charts Tony'll have to change his music; possibly with a little help from the competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1965

**Author's Note:**

> So technically I'm still on hiatus. At least for TCOLO, but I get stupid plot ideas all the time and I hate myself so I wrote this down. I'm thinking maybe four chapters for this fic. It's going to span... twenty years, maybe. I hope you guys enjoy this fic. It just lets me show off my useless knowledge of the 50s, 60s, and 70s and my need for more historical frostiron au. So yeah. :)
> 
> Aardvark!

Tony stood in the doorway in nothing but his open bathrobe and glared angrily at Pepper Potts who shoved him aside, ignoring his dirty looks as she began cleaning up. He had been in a mood for months and Pepper was tired of it.

"Get cleaned up," she told him, opening his fridge before closing it not seconds later. Pepper wrinkled her nose in disgust. "How do you live like this?" she asked, not expecting an answer from her client.

"What for?" Tony asked, finding a half empty beer bottle and downing it, gagging at the lukewarm taste. "I've got nowhere to be."

"Wrong," Pepper told him. "I convinced Fury to let you back into the studio."

Tony laughed, running a hand through his hair, plopping down into a chair. Good old Pepper. Always looking out for him. He shook his head, getting those thoughts out of his head. What was he thinking? No one cared about him anymore. He was washed up. Old news.

He couldn't keep up with the new kids, though it hurt for him to admit it. "No thanks," Tony said, making his way back to his bedroom.

"Tony," Pepper started.

"No," he growled. "I'm not going back." He wrapped himself in his blankets, hoping that Pepper would get the hint and leave. "I'm retired," he reminded her.

"You're being a baby."

"Am not," Tony muttered, just as Pepper ripped off the blankets, proving, once again, that he had no say in their professional relationship.

* * *

Tony slammed the door of his Chevy in protest, following Pepper obediently. Her hair was perfect and her heels made a wonderfully annoying clacking sound on the pavement. It made Tony grind his teeth.

He knew things were going to be different. He had gone to war knowing that, and when he came back, he was right. Music changed. People changed.

He changed.

There was a gaping hole in his chest, band-aid together with luck and a little bit of intuition. A bit of genius to keep his heart pumping. It wasn't too difficult, though the circumstaces in which he pieced himself together were less than ideal. His father headed the Manhattan Project, for pete's sake. Some genius was bound to rub off on him.

And yet people were always surprised to hear that he had graduated summa cum laude at MIT when he was 17 years old.

Then again, when you decide to go into rock and roll instead of the family business (if that's what you could call Stark Industries), it's much simpler to write you off as a block head.

SHIELD was just like Tony remembered. Large and impersonal. Albums lined the walls of the waiting room and hallways, gold records and smiling faces of those who had made a quick buck for the studio. It was disgusting. And he couldn't have been more disgusted when he saw his own face grinning back down at him, a cruel reminder of who he had been.

"Who's that?" Tony asked, staring up at an album with silhouetted figures, one large, the other small. No band name. Nothing. Very strange, as far as record albums went.

"The Odinsons," Phil Coulson told him, coming seemingly from nowhere. Tony, used to his sneaky ways, nodded his head absently. The Odinsons… Tony had never heard of them. "Just signed them," Phil Coulson said, answering Tony's unvoiced question.

He stared up at the album as Phil and Pepper chatted quietly in the background.

* * *

The day was cloudy and rainy, and unbearably humid. Loki felt like throwing himself out the window and onto the shrieking girls standing beneath his balcony. He lit another cigarette, closing his eyes and laying comfortably on the couch.

"Brother," Thor interrupted. Loki pressed his hand to his head, cursing under his breath. Two minutes. He only wanted two minutes.

"God, what?" Loki snapped, taking a long drag of his cigarette, praying that Thor would say what he wanted and get lost.

But if Thor's giant smile had any say in the matter, it was obvious that wasn't going to happen. "We're going to have a visitor," he buzzed with excitement.

"Who?" Loki asked, sitting up. That meant he'd actually have to put on clothes. Damn it. It was official. He was never again coming to New York in August.

"Tony Stark!" Thor boomed. Ah. Well… that would explain Thor's eagerness. Or rather, over eagerness. Thor was always eager. It was one of his most infuriating qualities. Among others, of course.

"Really?" Loki asked, feigning disinterest. "What on earth for?"

Thor shrugged, not caring for the reason his idol, the man he worshipped for years before going into rock and roll himself, wanted to meet them. Two barely famous rock and rollers from London.

Sure they had their over eager fans, but it was nothing compared to The Beatles or The Rolling Stones or Herman's Hermits. Even Dusty Springfield had a larger following than The Odinsons.

"What time?" Loki asked, hoping that he could still lounge for a little bit longer.

"Now," Clint Barton, their manager, announced, stepping into the hotel room, a very cool and relaxed Tony Stark behind him.

Loki slunk down into the couch. Damn it.

"Nice sheet," Stark smirked, eyeing Loki beneath a pair of outdated sunglasses.

There he was. Tony Stark. The rock and roller that started it all.

He remembered the first time he had heard Stark come on the radio. He and Thor both never looked back after that. How could they? Elvis was brilliant, and Chuck Berry could do it like no other, but Tony Stark.

The loud talking, obnoxious, shiny toothed, and personable musician just seemed to call to you. His voice dripped sex and his guitar playing exceeded anything Loki or Thor had ever imagined. Elvis had his pelvis, but Tony Stark just had to show up and the girls dropped their knickers, no gyrating necessary. Though no one would complain if he decided to.

Loki huffed, but extended his hand in greeting anyway. "Loki," he introduced himself. Tony shook the hand, before turning to his brother. "And Thor," Loki continued. "Pleasure."

"All mine," Tony murmured, looking around the room, his eyes falling on the bar in the corner. "Can I?" he asked, already grabbing a bottle of brandy and pouring himself a drink, no permission necessary.

Clint raised an eyebrow at Loki's lack of wear, but didn't say anything. A sheet was much better than him being naked, which Clint had witnessed more times than he'd ever like to admit.

Thor joined Tony at the bar and the two began chatting away, as Loki watched from the couch, refusing to move.

When Stark left, an hour or so later, Thor shot Loki a look of pure happiness, that he couldn't help but smile back. It seemed this childhood hero didn't let them down. Loki didn't have the heart to tell Thor that Stark was only checking out his competition.

Everyone knew that Stark was trying to get back into music. But things had changed. It'd been nearly seven years since he had released an album. The war had stunted his career, while the rest of the world plowed on.

Nobody was listening to rockabilly anymore. Sure, there were a few who were hanging on tight. But you had to move on. Rock and roll was well and truly dead.

Now there was this music. The sound of The Byrds, The Animals, Bob Dylan, and The Temptations. The Odinsons. There was no room on the charts for Tony Stark.

And everyone knew it.


	2. 1966

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’s the record coming along?” Loki asked.
> 
> Tony chuckled under his breath, running a tired hand through his hair. “It ain’t. And it never fucking will,” he answered. “I’m washed up.”
> 
> “Drowning in an empty pool,” Loki mused.
> 
> “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Stark replied.
> 
> “Yeah,” Loki said. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... some racial slurs. Cursing (but that's always). Yeah. If I forgot something, sorry.  
> Also, took longer than I thought to get this chapter up. So apologies.   
> Enjoy!

**1966**

 

“Turn off that bullshit,” Tony barked, unplugging the radio and cutting off the vocalizing harmonies of The Lovin’ Spoonful. At least he didn’t throw it, Happy mused as he poured himself another cup of coffee. God, he was tired.

Three days. Three days he’d been shut up in the studio with Tony who was moody, sullen, and downright hostile. Of course, Tony had been here longer. Two weeks. Maybe more. Pepper refused to let him go home until he sat down and wrote something. Anything. It didn’t even have to be good.

But Tony did nothing but bite off the head of anyone who approached; of anyone who so much as shot him a pitying look. Rhodey had left the studio Thursday morning with a black eye and a sour face.

Happy was pretty lucky in that regard. The two men had yet to come to blows, but Tony was losing fuse quickly. It seemed his decision to listen to what was popular now wasn’t his smartest move. 

“Fuckin’ febs,” Tony continued, storming around the small room he had been locked in. His hair was a greasy mess and he had several days growth of facial hair. His hands shook mildly, his body feeling the effects of days without a single drink. “Stupid, fucking, tea-wops.”

Happy took another long draught of coffee. “They’re American,” he commented, setting aside his cup and picking up his pen.

Tony stopped his pacing to glare at Happy. “I don’t give a shit,” he growled. “They all sound the same. Whiny voices begging for love. Boys playing at men. Fuck!” He grabbed an empty coffee mug and threw it at the wall.

He inhaled deeply, running his hands through his hair, slicking it upwards and sideways, not caring that he looked like a madman. “I need to get out of here,” Tony said, turning around and abandoning Happy to clean up his mess in peace.

* * *

Loki tapped his pen incessantly  against his notepad, legs up on the mixing console as Thor plucked at the melody of their newest song. Well it would be, if Loki could think of the fucking words.

They’d been in the studio the past week, hoping that inspiration would hit Loki, but to no avail. All he managed to do in that time was think of new insults for Thor and hit on Clint to the point where he refused to speak to either brother until the song was written. Honestly, Clint was too sensitive.

“Brother,” Thor said, stopping his playing and hugging his guitar to his chest.

Loki hummed in response. What rhymed with dark?

There was a rustling sound and suddenly a piece of paper was thrust into Loki’s eyeline. He side eyed it, before looking to Thor. He appeared a bit nervous, but was confident. There was going to be a fight, no doubt about it.

“What’s this?” Loki asked, knowing full well what it was. Why couldn’t Thor stick with what he was good at?

“A song,” Thor answered, opening the sheet and putting it in front of Loki. “I thought that we could use it.”

Loki inhaled deeply, the ink in his pen blotting his notepad at how hard he was pressing it down. “Thor, what was our agreement?”

“You are clearly struggling,” Thor continued, ignoring Loki’s jab. He knew he was no wordsmith. Not like Loki, but he could write songs. “And why suffer when I have already words here?”

“We are popular because of my words,” Loki hissed, “Not yours. We’d fall into decay if we used your songs. They’d confuse us for someone as lackadaisical as the Beach Boys.”

Thor stood, anger distorting his features. “Your pride is getting us nowhere!”

“Stick with what you are good at, Thor,” Loki replied, throwing his pen across the room and marching out of the control booth.

They had this argument every few weeks or so, and it always ended in the same way. Loki would leave to cool off and when he returned, Thor wouldn’t bring up the subject again. They’d have a new song written by Loki and everything would work out just fine.

Loki wandered the halls of SHIELD, ignoring the pointed looks he got from secretaries and agents. He was allowed to cool off if he wanted to. He wondered if they had all heard the argument. He certainly hoped none of them had. Loki was on thin ice with the studio, Nick Fury, as it was.

He never really did well with authority. Or dicks who wore eye patches.

Mainly the latter.

A familiar riff echoed in the hallway, and Loki was pulled from his murderous thoughts. He followed the sound, humming the words under his breath.

The guitar was heavy. Real heavy. Like Loki fell into forge, and repeatedly beat on the chest with a hammer. It felt good. It felt right.

He turned a corner only to find Tony Stark sitting on a couch, an electric guitar in his lap, hooked up to an old amplifier, in one of the older studios.

“The only girl I care about has gone away. Looking for a brand new start,” Tony sung quietly, drawn out and husky, sending chills down Loki’s spine.

This was the man Loki remembered from his childhood.

Stark looked up to find Loki standing in the doorway and stopped his playing. “What do you want?”

“The Cascades,” Loki said.

“Yeah?” Tony asked, as if to say, _what about it?_ He stared up at Loki expectantly, but Loki didn’t move, he just stared back at Stark. “Look, kid –”

“Why’d you stop?”

Tony blinked. “Maybe I don’t like giving free shows to long haired weirdos.”

Loki ran a hand through his hair with a huff, smirking as he walked into the room and fell into a chair opposite Tony. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one out before remembering his manners. He held the pack out to Stark and asked, “Want one?’

Stark shook his head and Loki shrugged, lighting his cigarette and throwing the pack on the coffee table in front of him, stretching out his long legs.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Loki told him, taking a deep drag, waving away the smoke as he exhaled. Tony rolled his eyes, but took up his guitar again, picking up where he left off.

“But little does she know when she left that day, along with her she took my heart,” Tony finished, going into the interlude as Loki relaxed.

Listening to Stark play was like lying in a thundercloud. It shook Loki to the core, and oh how he loved it. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but talent was talent, and Stark was the best. Age and time hadn’t changed that. The war hadn’t injured his hands, mangle or cripple him. He was as hale and whole as he could possibly be.

There was no excuse for him not be on the radio; for him not to be releasing LPs left and right. This – this was what people wanted to hear. God, it cut deep. It was like Stark was looking into your soul and wasn’t that a frightening thought. Or maybe it was just Loki’s soul.

He really couldn’t tell at that moment.

“Heavy,” Loki murmured around his cigarette, eyes closed as he let his arms dangle out to his sides.

“What?” Stark asked, repeating the refrain.

Loki opened his sleepy eyes and repeated, “Heavy.”

Tony snorted, tossing the guitar aside and shutting off the amp. “What’re you doing here, Cher?” he asked, sitting forward, elbows resting on knees.

“Very clever,” Loki drawled, “Guitar Slim.”

“Ouch,” Tony scoffed, holding a hand to his chest. “You know how to wound a guy.”

“It’s my most endearing quality,” Loki informed him, grounding out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Just ask Thor.”

Tony snatched the pack of cigarettes before Loki could grab it and pulled out a cigarette for himself. “Don’t mind if I bum a smoke, do ya?” With a grin he tossed the pack back to Loki, who in turn tossed him the matches. Stark put the cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it. “I knew Guitar Slim.” He pulled out the fag and twisted it in his fingers. “Fucking shame.”

They grew quiet then, a moment of silence, perhaps. It was the way things were. When you couldn’t make it in the business. You rotted away until you were nothing. How many more years before they forgot Stark’s name? Or Loki’s?

Tony picked up the guitar again and just held it. It looked right there. Like it belonged. Unlike in Loki’s arms where it was a wonky contraption. He could play, sure, but just passably. Thor was the musician. God could he play. He used to sit in front of the television and copy Stark’s every move. Elvis, Chuck Berry, anyone he could.

Loki knew he’d be nothing without Thor, and it angered him to his core. If Thor suddenly started writing his own songs, where would that leave Loki? He’d just be another Guitar Slim.

“How’s the record coming along?” Loki asked.

Tony chuckled under his breath, running a tired hand through his hair. “It ain’t. And it never fucking will,” he answered. “I’m washed up.”

“Drowning in an empty pool,” Loki mused.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Stark replied.

“Yeah,” Loki said. “I know.”

Stark lit his cigarette and just let it sit in his mouth. “I thought I was depressed before you showed up.” He ran his fingers over the strings of his guitar before starting over the song from before.

Loki sat up and took a good long look at Stark. “Why don’t you play like that?”

“Thought that was what I was doing,” Tony pointed out with a grin.

“In the studio.”

Tony stopped his playing and blinked. “Nobody wants to listen to this bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Loki said, “they do.”

Tony scoffed. “Don’t think so, kid. You told me so yourself, remember?”

Not Loki’s best moment, but he was angry, and wrapped in bed sheet, and Tony had strode into their hotel room like he owned the place. “I was smashed.”

“So was I,” Tony countered. He sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Look, don’t you have something better to do than talk to a has been?”

“Yes, actually,” Loki admitted. “But the Stones would murder their grandmother to play like you do.”

He squashed his cigarette, already dead in his hand and grinned at Stark. “Don’t be a square, Stark,” Loki told him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

* * *

Later that evening, Loki penned a new song, about a man who was lost without a vision in sight. Thor didn’t bring up his song again and Loki felt only a tiny bit of guilt. But they had a deal. And they weren’t allowed to go against it.

Tony returned to the studio surprisingly calm, a guitar in hand, and a new tune in his head. Happy was unbelievably shocked to see him so hard at work. He had asked, of course, where he had gone, but Tony kept mum on the subject.

Whatever the cause, Happy was glad to find Tony back where he belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Tony plays is Rhythm of the Rain by the Cascades. And Guitar Slim was a guitarist of the 40s and 50s. Basically he was using distorted guitar before Hendrix. What what!  
> Questions, comments, hate me? Let me know ;)  
> Aardvark!


	3. 1967

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony growled deep in his throat, catching hold of Loki's wrists and pinning him to the door.
> 
> "I'd imagine it was you. That was all I wanted. To be fucked by you," Loki breathed out, leaning forward so their noses touched, breath intermingling. "I still do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning :) It's near the end so you can skip if you like.

**1967**

 

The room was filled with people, all pressing against one another, psychedelic lights flashing in an irritating pattern as the public waited for the men of the hour to show up. Their latest L.P. played loudly in the background, which only solidified the oddness of the party. Their's was no LSD induced euphoric mess of a record.

Above all, The Odinsons had retained their wholesomeness. Though that was entirely relative. To the public they were still clean cut boys. Maybe their hair was longer, the trousers tighter, but still, they said their please and thank you's. There were no surprises.

Their music, was above all, tasteful. Melancholy at times, yet filled with hope and passion. Two harmonious voices calling out to their listeners, begging for understanding.

And to the public that was how they were to remain.

* * *

"Could you repeat yourself, brother?" Loki hissed through clenched teeth, hands twitching for another hit. And he'd have one too, just after he took care of this great big lug.

"We're getting married," Thor repeated, his smile quickly diminishing. He knew that Loki hated Jane Foster. He had come up with various reasons as to why Thor should break up with her. The first being that she was wholly beneath him. The rest were outrageous. She was a groupie, or an addict, or was just using him to further her career.

So what if she was a photographer? She took photos of rock and rollers, it was her job. But she never used photos of the Odinson's without permission. Or took any without an OK from Loki. But still, Thor had secretly hoped that Loki would be happy for him, not foaming at the mouth and looking as if he were to go on a killing spree any second.

"You're going to marry that… that…," Loki couldn't think of the word. Harlot, came to mind, but the last time he called her that, Thor had punched him in the eye. "Woman," Loki finished, putting as much venom and disgust in the word as possible.

Thor's face said it all. "I had hoped you'd be my best man," he mumbled a little guiltily.

"We can't just both disappear because you have the sudden urge to tie the knot to the first woman who smiled at you," Loki yelled, kicking over a chair.

The door of the room they were in opened and Clint's head popped in. "What's taking you guys? Everyone's waiting for you and they're starting to get on my back about – what's going on?" Clint said in all one breath.

"Why don't you ask Romeo," Loki growled, pushing Clint aside and storming out the room and into the crowded gallery where everyone decided to come upon him at once. He pushed them all away, and made his way to the men's room, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Tony downed another beer, the lights and sounds getting to him much quicker than he would have liked to admit. He hated this new love culture. Hippies gave him the creeps, and most of them were too high off their ass to realize just how messed up they were.

He wouldn't have come, honestly, if Pepper hadn't roped him into it. It was good for publicity and all that other bullshit she kept trying to feed Tony like it was her job. Well… yeah actually, it was. But that was neither here nor there.

The point was it showed camaraderie. We're both musicians. We've both got chart topping records out. We're part of the same record company. Of course we're friends.

The schmoozing, honestly, was unbearable. Not that anyone tried to schmooze Tony. Well they did, but he gave them a lingering death glare and off they went in search of someone else to go bother.

Tony grabbed one of those weird shrimp things and popped it into his mouth as he shoved the crowd aside, making his way to the bathroom. He needed air. God how he needed air. Outside was just as crowded, with overeager fans and new musical groups, hoping to get advice from a "legend," which thanks a lot, but Tony was not an old guy.

He may be a little run down, and more than a little bit older than those stupid kids with hair down to their asses, but Tony was no old man. And a legend? Might as well just consider him dead. His latest record was number one for ten weeks. Ten whole weeks! Let's see those long haired weirdos do that.

And Tony knew he was just more than a little blitzed, from the way he was muttering most of his thoughts aloud. "Shit," Tony muttered when he tried to pushing at the bathroom door and nothing happened. Taking a moment to analyze the situation, Tony decided to pull at the door. Nothing.

Well then.

"It's locked," an irritated Clint told him. Tony blinked in confusion. When did he get here…

Clint glared angrily at the door, pounding on it and yelling, "You better get your skinny ass out here, Loki," before storming away, grumbling about he wasn't paid enough for this.

In retrospect, maybe Tony should have just gone away to find another toilet, but he was kind of drunk, and he really had to piss. So he knocked on the door, saying, "Loki Doki, sweetheart, open up, I gotta full bladder and if it ain't emptied anytime soon, things will go south very very quickly if you catch my drift." Nothing. "I like to think you do," Tony added.

The door opened suddenly and Tony was yanked inside, the door slamming behind him and properly locked once more.

Loki leaned his head against the door, silent, the only sound of his deep breaths. Tony shifted uncomfortably, not sure whether he should just pee like he wanted to, or ask if the guy was alright.

His bladder won out in the end.

It wasn't until he zipped up his fly that Loki moved, turning around slowly so his back pressed up against the door, pupils blown as he watched Tony stumble to the sink, fighting with the water taps.

"Stark," Loki said.

Tony looked up at Loki, more than a little confused. "Oh, hey, Twiggy," he grinned, returning his attention to the taps. "Clint was looking for you. Not true, he knew you were in here, I guess he wanted you to come out? I wasn't really paying attention." He pulled a napkin from the dispenser, drying his hands and tossing it into the waste bin, missing it entirely.

He smiled at the small dish with mints, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth. "Excuse me," Tony said.

"I hate everyone out there," Loki told him, not moving from his spot, eyes locked on Tony's lips.

Tony snorted. "Yeah, join the club." He reached for the lock, but Loki was faster, aborting the movement before it had even reached its destination.

"I don't hate everyone in here," Loki smiled, licking his lips.

It was at this moment that Tony's alcohol muddled mind started to put the pieces together. Loki was coming on to him. He was actually… "You're high as a kite," Tony said.

Loki pursed his lips together, unpleased with the reaction. "Higher."

Well at least he admitted it. "What you take?" Tony asked. Only for scientific purposes. He wasn't interested in drugs himself. He had a bit of a morphine addiction back during the war, and even after, but he cleaned himself up. More like Pepper threatened pain and destruction if he didn't stop. She said she'd leave, and he didn't want that.

"Why?" Loki wondered, wrapping his arms around Tony's neck, pulling him closer so his lithe body was pressed up against Tony's, head bent down to nip at his ear.

This was… unexpected. Was that the word? Probably. He could feel Loki on every part of his body; fingers playing with his hair, lips on his neck, leg between his own. Tony wanted to say no. He wanted to fight it. But he was never very good at saying no to sex.

He cleared his throat. "Scientific curiosity, really," Tony babbled. "Always good to know, I think."

"Am I making you nervous?" Loki purred in Tony's ear. Well… that was… No. No no nonononono. Tony couldn't do this. Actually he could. But he knew he shouldn't.

Fucking some soldier who was just as sexually frustrated as yourself was one thing. Happily going at it in a men's room during a PARTY was not something Tony felt he should be doing. And since when did he begin saying no to sex? He was not as drunk as he thought he was.

Who would have thought that a skinny, British singer would sober him up.

"I used to fantasize about this," Loki continued, "Thor would spin poetics about your skill at the guitar, but not me. I used to watch you. The way you just oozed sex. I used to touch myself. I still do."

Tony's mouth went dry. He could feel himself hardening within his trousers, he could feel Loki's own arousal pressed against his thigh. Very carefully, Tony placed his hands on Loki's hips, feeling the bones beneath his thin shirt.

Loki hummed pleasantly at the touch, gasping as Tony shoving against the bathroom door. He let go of the other man, but now Tony was gripping him tightly. He wanted him. Loki smirked.

"That's the difference between me and Thor. When he was trying to woo some skirt, I was sucking off a man ten years older than me in an alleyway, anything to get here."

Tony growled deep in his throat, catching hold of Loki's wrists and pinning him to the door.

"I'd imagine it was you. That was all I wanted. To be fucked by you," Loki breathed out, leaning forward so their noses touched, breath intermingling. "I still do."

He knew he was being played. Tony always knew when someone was jerking his chain. But how could he say no to this? He wanted it. He'd always wanted Loki. From that very first moment he saw him; smooth skin wrapped in ivory sheets, knowing that he wore nothing underneath. The man was like a god.

Tony surged forward, catching Loki's lower lip between his teeth, pulling at it and taking pleasure in the whimper Loki let out. "You're a fucking tease," Tony told him, finally kissing him and relishing the feel of Loki's tongue against his own.

They pulled away, gasping in breaths of air, eyes meeting for a moment before Tony dived in once more, biting and nibbling on Loki's pale, clean neck. He wanted to mark him. He wanted to leave Loki covered in bruises and bites. Proof of this moment. This glorious moment.

As Tony peppered kisses along Loki's jaw, he could feel long, perfect fingers pulling at his trousers, undoing the buttons and zipping down the fly. Suddenly his pants were at his ankles and Loki had squirmed his way out of Tony's grasp.

"Let me," Loki panted, before dropping to his knees, forehead pressed against his stomach, hot breath teasing Tony's eager erection.

Tony swallowed, nodding absently, as Loki took hold of his cock, and licked just the tip. Oh dear god, he was treating him like a lollipop. Tony bucked forward, wanting more. Loki chuckled against him, licking and suckling, but refusing to give Tony what he wanted.

"If you don't fucking take my fucking dick in your fucking mouth, I swear to god, Loki, I am going to fucking kill you," Tony yelled, pounding his hands against the bathroom door.

"You only had to ask politely," Loki mumbled, taking Tony in his mouth.

Tony let out a broken yell, as Loki bobbed up and down, Tony's cock hitting the back of Loki's throat every so often. He grabbed at Loki's hair, thrustly wildly into Loki's sweet, warm mouth, not caring if he choked the guy.

But if Loki's hums were anything to go by, and the way his hand had found its way down his own trousers, Loki was enjoying this immensely.

When Tony finally came, Loki swallowed him down whole, not a single drop of his cum dripping from his mouth. He pulled away with a grin, slowly standing, removing a spunk covered hand from his pants.

The two stared at one another, breathing hard. Tony grabbed Loki's wrist and lifted his hand to his mouth, suckling on the fingers, Loki's pupils blown wide, face pink with exertion.

A banging at the door interrupted the moment, Loki pulling his hand away. Tony heaved a deep sigh, pulling up his pants and fastening them as he called out, "Yeah?"

"Loki?" Thor asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow at Loki who was washing his hands. "It's for you."

"What do you want, Thor?" Loki asked, tearing a napkin from the dispenser and violently trying to clean himself up, staring angrily at the stain on his pants.

"Everyone is asking for you," Thor replied. "Please."

Loki threw the napkin away, pressing his palms against his eyes. "Fine!" Loki snapped. "I'll be right out."

They could hear a muffled thank you from Thor before he shuffled away. Tony stared at Loki who was trying his damn hardest to look presentable, but Tony could see the light bruises he had left on Loki's neck. He knew that Loki's hair had that particularly ruffled sex look. He knew where that mouth had been minutes before.

"It seems I need to cut out," Loki said, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't sweat it," Tony said, unlocking the bathroom door and holding it open.

Loki walked up to Tony, kissing him deeply, before pulling away and walking out the door, leaving Tony breathless and more than a little confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. But had some serious writer's block, aka how do i write smex? But I tried. And you can't say I didn't try. So once I was able to overcome my fear of writing bad sexy scenes, it was actually really easy to write. I have everything planned out. It's just writing it that's the hard part.
> 
> Um... Is that all? I think so. Aardvark!


	4. 1968: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is your fourth stay with us, Mr. Odinson," the doctor felt like mentioning.
> 
> A vacuous look was all he was given in response.
> 
> The doctor sighed, rubbing a hand against his temple. "You've been in and out of here for the past two years," the doctor continued, as if Loki wasn't aware of his own history. "Two years, and you've spoken to me, maybe a handful of times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So warnings for language, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse. And homophobia (?). I tried to research stuff, so if you feel I'm misinterpreting anything, let me know, but keep in mind this is a different time and place. Also, I have a fairly important note (I think) at the end of the fic, so if you could read it that would be great! Now to the chapter.

**1968**

Loki sat on his assigned bed, leaning up against the metal headboard, staring vacantly out of the large, open windows as he lit another cigarette. Frankly, he was a little surprised they let him keep the matches, but then again, he wasn't unstable.

He ran a hand through his grimy hair, forgetting when was the last time he had showered. He was disgusting.

Loki ground out his cigarette, tossing the crystal ash tray across the room, delighting in the sound of it breaking into millions of little pieces.

The door to room opened as two orderlies marched in. One stared resolutely at the broken ash tray, the other glaring at Loki who merely shrugged, a smirk in place. The large man clenched his jaw as he approached Loki, knowing full well that the musician was full of tricks.

"Oops," Loki commented dryly, not even struggling when they restrained him.

* * *

"You had another tantrum," the doctor said, legs crossed, hands folded over his knee. He had dark hair, white painting the temples, and thick, black rimmed glasses. Loki hated him.

He received only silence in reply.

The doctor sighed. "I realize, Mr. Odinson, that you're accustomed to a certain…" He trailed off, thinking of the appropriate word. Loki barely glanced at him. He was too busy being bored. "Lifestyle," the doctor finally concluded. "A certain degree of comfort, if you will. You've been with us three months."

Loki restrained his twitch. Three months. Three whole fucking months without a hit. God, he needed it. The only reason they didn't let him leave was because they knew. They knew he'd be sniffing his way back the second they set him loose.

So he stayed. He followed their rules. He went to the fucking doctor appointments. He took the pills they said would help. He even sat through this psychoanalysis bullshit.

They'd tried shocking him out of it once.

They weren't going to be trying that on him again. At least not anytime soon.

"You're supposed to tell us when you get a craving," the doctor continued. "Not, and I emphasize the not, destroy hospital property."

"It was mine," Loki said, bored. "You could hardly afford something that expensive." He smiled at the doctor.

Fuck you.

* * *

They finally let him out of his room.

They still didn't trust him to save his life, but they had at least let him out.

Which Tony felt was a huge improvement.

That could not be said about lunch. It wasn't just the withdrawals that made him nauseous, apparently. The food here really was unbearable. He picked at his mashed potatoes, avoiding all eye contact with the meatloaf when he heard a metal lunch tray clang onto his table.

Great. Now he had to deal with the psychos.

He looked up at his table mate, expecting one of those guys that spoke to themselves or had to be muzzled. He was not expecting the meek looking man with brown eyes. "Hey," Tony greeted, shoveling a spoonful of corn into his mouth before spitting it back out onto his plate. God, that was disgusting.

"You get used to it," the man mumbled, taking a small sip of his orange juice.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

The man ate a bit of his meatloaf, struggling to swallow. "No," he chuckled quietly.

"Tony Stark," Tony told him, holding out his hand.

The man took it. "Bruce Banner."

* * *

Bruce was a physicist. And he had been part of Project Vela, having helped developed the Vela satellites that had discovered gamma-ray bursts.

"For real?" Tony had asked, impressed. He has assured Tony that he was indeed, for real.

Bruce was also a volunteer patient. "I get those days," Bruce explained, "where I don't even remember who I am or what I'm doing. My wife said I was like a different man. It scared her."

She left him for some jerk who was… well… stable.

"Can't blame Betty," Bruce had told Tony once, over breakfast. "She deserves someone better than me."

Tony couldn't help but disagree. Bruce was a good guy.

* * *

The first time Tony heard about one of Bruce's "episodes," as everyone got to calling them, was only a few days after they had met.

He forgot where he was and attacked the nurses and orderlies. Apparently the meek scientist didn't know his strength. Tony had wanted to visit him. To tell him everything was going to be okay.

After all, it was difficult to find friends in a place like this. But they wouldn't let him.

Bruce refused to talk to Tony for a week when they finally pumped enough morphine in him to let him past his bedroom walls, certain he was not a threat to anyone.

But there's something about being locked up, surrounded by people just as broken as you are that makes it difficult to stay apart.

* * *

There were times when Loki couldn't breathe.

He was drowning. Drowning, drowning; so far and so deep that just existing was a struggle. He could feel himself being pulled down and it was just so much easier not to fight.

But he did.

He always did.

Not by choice. It was a knee jerk reaction. He just wanted to pain to end. To forget there was water in his lungs, holding back his breath. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't let himself live.

He couldn't just let himself die.

* * *

"What's wrong with them?" Tony asked, watching several orderlies run down the hall, from where he was sitting in an armchair, a book sitting closed on his lap. It had seemed interesting, at first glance, but Tony didn't have the patience.

Not when he felt himself craving a drink. Just one. That's all he needed.

He had told his doctor he was doing just fine. They didn't believe him. Tony didn't believe himself either.

Bruce shrugged, eyes glued to the chess board he had set up, hoping to entertain Tony in some way. And it would be, if Bruce would just make a move.

* * *

It was a staring contest.

Loki stared blankly at his doc, while the doctor looked back at him, glasses in hand, a very put upon expression on his face. As if Loki cared.

_Well?_  the expression seemed to say.  _What do you have to say for yourself?_ "This is your fourth stay with us, Mr. Odinson," the doctor felt like mentioning.

A vacuous look was all he was given in response.

The doctor sighed, rubbing a hand against his temple. "You've been in and out of here for the past two years," the doctor continued, as if Loki wasn't aware of his own history. "Two years, and you've spoken to me, maybe a handful of times."

He put his glasses back on, reaching for an envelope that lay on the table beside his chair. He set it on his lap and turned the pages within. "February 19, 1967, your brother found you seizing in the back of a car, while heading towards his wedding." The doctor tsked quietly, hoping for a raise from his patient.

Nothing. He continued.

"You spent two months with us, and then in May you came back because your manager caught you snorting – cocaine," the doctor said, stumbling over the last word, "just before a show in Atlanta." He cleared his throat. "Three months with us. You appeared to be clean. We had faith in you. And then a month later you returned. Five months."

"I've been told I'm quite stubborn," Loki drawled, bored out of his mind. He knew all about his time here. If anything, they should send him to a better sanatorium. One that actually knew what they were doing.

"Do you see a pattern here?" the doctor asked.

"Not particularly."

The doctor closed his folder. Changing tactics? "Your brother wanted me to discuss your… homosexual tendencies." Nope. Just topics. And oh, look at that. The doctor squirmed, pulling at his ear, patiently waiting for a response.

He was uncomfortable. Perfect.

"Doesn't everyone have homosexual tendencies?" Loki asked, putting as much curiosity and innocence into the question as he could muster.

The doctor coughed. "No."

"Freud certainly seems to think so," Loki said, a smirk breaking out onto his face.

"You are putting words in his mouth," the doctor insisted.

"Yes, I suppose he would much rather prefer a cock."

* * *

He was being difficult. It was all over his file in large, red letters. DIFFICULT, stamped across his photograph.

Beware, Loki Odinson is difficult.

He let his cigarette dangle out of his mouth as he grabbed a lunch tray, watching the unimpressed lunch servers slap food onto a plate and handing it to him. Oh happy day.

Loki slammed his tray onto the lunch table, pushing his cigarette into his jiggling jello square. He wondered how long it would be this time before they got tired of him. Hopefully they'd figure out he was a lost cause.

Loki realized that a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "year" is going to be broken up into two parts. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)
> 
> Okay, so this is the important part. If anyone has read any of my other fics and reads my notes, then you'd be aware that I am currently writing my thesis, which is a feature length screenplay. This is my last semester of college and once I finish school I will be heading off to LA to start my glamorous career as an unemployed screenwriter. So... what does this mean to you?
> 
> I will be sending my screenplay to festivals and there are fees, and moving across country is going to cost money. Now, what I'm asking is, how do you think I should raise money aside from my lame part time job? Though I suppose another question is if I ask for donations to help me along, would you be willing to help me out? I can do an indiegogo campaign, and offer perks for a certain amount of money donated, which will be short stories of basically anything you'd like, fandom or not. Another idea I had was possibly compiling my fan fics and self publishing them in an anthology of sorts. And then obviously you could purchase them and help me out that way.
> 
> YOU'RE NOT OBLIGATED TO DO ANYTHING. I just want to know if anyone would be willing to help me out, if you can think of ways I can contribute to the fandom/you while also getting a little help myself, or any ideas for how I can make impending doom less doomy. I will be adding this proposal/request to all of my current fics, so if you read any of those, you will be seeing this a lot. Feel free to ignore me. 
> 
> BUT if you want to help, or have ideas, comments, or questions, and so forth, feel free to drop me a line. Either comment, or message me, or contact me on my tumblr. Either andquitefrankly or whatwewhisper. Thank you for reading this gigantic note which is kind of longer than the actual fic. Sorry if I'm at all annoying but this is kind of important to me. Okay.
> 
> Aardvark!


	5. 1968: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What was it?” he asked.
> 
> “Coke,” Loki answered. “You?”
> 
> “Name a drink,” Tony sneered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I've risen from the dead (between thesis and terrible terrible writer's block) to bring you this chapter! We're still in the hospital. So mentions of drug and alcohol abuse. Bit of homophobia, kind of. Um... that's all I think. :) Enjoy!

Grounding his cigarette to ashes, Loki avoided looking at his brother. The look of disappoint permanently carved into Thor’s face was too much for Loki to bear. “The doctor says you’re improving.”

Loki raised a brow. The doc never said a thing to him. “Put me out of my misery, Thor,” Loki insisted, meeting Thor’s eye. His brother was tired. Tired of him, tired of this life. But Loki was exhausted. And if any Odinson was to gain reprieve, it was the youngest who deserved it more.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” Thor replied, fingers tapping on the table. Loki heard each thud against the wood, felt each vibration run up his spine. “Jane and I.”

“You’re quitting,” Loki spat out, interpreting Thor’s sentence for what he truly meant. This was it. The end. There was nothing worth fighting for now. “How plebeian of you.”

Thor shook his head and sighed, finally admitting, “You are not getting better.”

Yes. Loki knew that. He wasn't planning on it anytime soon. The fake reassurances his doctor gave Thor. The hopeful statements uttered by Thor himself. It was pointless. “Good luck,” Loki said, just before walking away. He wouldn't see his brother for some time.

* * *

At night, the hospital was strangely serene. Tony had thought he would find it frightful, a building filled with crazies and addicts. But it was much more reassuring now, when they were all locked away in their rooms, dosed up and knocked out.

Technically he wasn't supposed to be out of bed, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. He had begun to get restless. He had the impulse to break down doors and smash through windows. His mind was running a mile a minute and he could feel himself deteriorating.

The drink had muted it. Tony had tried to explain, but the doctors all gave him the same look. Disapproving and pitying. He was tired of it.

There were nights where the impulse was too high, when he had to get out of his mind, and wandering the halls of the hospital calmed him. He was still locked in, but the restlessness was transferred to curiosity.

Tony had discovered rooms and closets, abandoned sections of the hospital, or rooms too horrifying to recall. There were places where dirty, blood stained instruments, filled racks and shelves, a testament to the old ways of psychiatry.

Running his fingers along the wall, Tony felt his fingers tapping incessantly, fingers moving to different chords, various tunes flitting in and out of his mind. That was another side effect of over indulging.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway and Tony froze, pressing his back into the wall, hoping to find shelter in the shadows.

The security guards were ruthless. Tony witnessed what they had done to an unfortunate insomniac two weeks after his arrival. The last thing he needed was to be caught. Their footsteps grew closer as their voices grew louder.

Tony quietly ran, stopping at the first door he could find. He quickly turned the doorknob and slipped inside the room. He put a hand to his heart, feeling it thump wildly. Turning ever so slightly, he pressed his body to the door, listening for anything.

“Welcome,” drawled a voice from behind, and Tony spun around, head thumping against the door. He cursed under his breath, eyes adjusting to the darkness, not even the light of the moon making its way through the open windows.

With a click, the bedside lamp turned on and Tony blinked at the sudden surge of brightness burning his retinas. Tony took a hesitant step forward, arm held up, shielding his eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tony whispered. “But I didn’t want to get caught.”

“I was just thinking about you, Stark. Well… that’s not true,” Loki said with a feral smile. He was sitting up in bed, long legs bent to rest his elbows on.

Tony gaped.

“Catching flies?” Loki asked, causing Tony to shut his mouth.

He took a hesitant forward, giving a quick glance at his only exit. “Nice to see you,” Tony said.

Loki chuckled, deep and seductive. Tony gulped. “Long time no see.”

“You’re looking well,” Loki continued, smirking. Tony grimaced back. As far as jokes went, it wasn't that funny. Though knowing Loki (which Tony admitted he didn't at all), he didn't mean it to be.

There was a hammering at the door and Loki clicked his tongue, turning off the light. Tony searched the room for somewhere to hide, knowing all the while it was futile. “Sleeping!” Loki shouted, and there was a dissatisfied grunt from behind, but no one entered the room and Tony took it as a good sign.

“I’m their favorite,” Loki grinned.

Eyes adjusting once more to the darkness, Tony blurted, “What the hell happened to you, sweet cheeks?”

Loki was nothing like the image imprinted in Tony’s mind, on his knees, mouth filled up with his dick, a fire in his eyes. Now he was just a shadow of that man. Greasy hair, thinner and paler skin; Loki looked like a man waiting death.

“The same could be said of you,” Loki retorted petulantly, crossing his arms and staring at the beige wall, made all the more colorless by the darkness.

Tony laughed, sitting himself on the edge of Loki’s bed. Compared to  his own room, Loki had gotten the cream of the crop. Choice pickings, if you asked Tony. For one, he didn't have a roommate, and Tony had some money, but Pepper didn't give a single shit about that when it came to his sobriety. If he had to learn a lesson, he might as well have a terrible reminder of what it was like when he screwed up.

“Shit,” Tony uttered. Loki looked at him then, curiosity plain on his face. “What the hell you here for?”

“Your drinking finally caught up to you?” Loki sneered.

“Don’t act better than me,” Tony challenged. “You were higher than the stars that night, weren't you?”

“What night?” Loki asked.

Tony leaned over Loki, noses nearly touching, hand on Loki’s thigh. Loki’s breath hitched. “You know what night,” Tony whispered, licking his lips.

Loki shuddered as Tony squeezed his leg. “Yeah,” Loki admitted, catching Tony’s lips with his own, pulling on Tony’s grey scrubs.

The two tumbled backwards, Loki spreading his legs, squeezing Tony’s hips with his knees. Loki kissed him like a thirsty man, only grudgingly allowing them both up for gasps of air. Tony found himself wrapped in Loki, the younger man panting below him, staring into Tony’s eyes.

“What was it?” he asked.

“Coke,” Loki answered. “You?”

“Name a drink,” Tony sneered.

Loki pulled Tony down again for another searing kiss, hands running through Tony’s hair, holding onto the man like a lifeline.

This… this was confusing. Tony pulled away, trying to get his thoughts in order. Loki stared back at him, pupils blown, breathing ragged. He was a pretty picture. Tony could hardly believe he had Loki here with him like this once again.

“What the hell do you want from me?” Tony hissed, hand pressing firmly down on Loki’s chest, so no matter how hard he struggled, he was unable to move.

Loki growled in annoyance, trying to shove Tony’s hand away, but he had spent so long in the hospital, his body weakened from abuse, that he couldn't. “Get off!”

“I’m not your fucking play thing, Loki,” Tony spat in his face, letting Loki go and sitting up.

Tony thought about Loki quite a bit after that night. To find someone that openly… that openly blatant with their regard. There were a few men like that in the army, and Tony didn't have a problem with it. As long as they kept their dick to themselves, why the hell should he care. Of course, sometimes it got lonely, and hey, what was a quick fuck when the prostitutes were fifty miles too far. But that was all it was.

He wasn't a prude. He knew that sometimes he’d stare at a man too long. But that was who he was. It wasn’t like he found women unappealing. He loved them just as much.

Except now there were rules. When you needed one off, you found an army buddy and took care of it. Back on good America soil you chased a skirt till she was willing to lift it.

“I never said you were,” Loki replied, remaining horizontal on the bed, unmoving.

Tony glared down at him. “You have a bad habit of getting me worked up over nothing.”

Loki leered. “I've noticed.”

A fist hit the bed beside Loki’s head, hard and fast, causing Loki to flinch. Tony leaned down, eyes fixed on the other man’s. “You give me head and then you walk away, spewing the dirtiest talk I’ve ever heard, just to get me hard,” Tony reminded him. “So sorry if I’m a little less than enthused right now.”

“You've wanted me too,” Loki whispered. “Don’t deny it.” He hesitantly reached a hand out, stroking Tony’s tensed shoulders. He relaxed minutely, staring into the green orbs that were Loki’s eyes. He did. He wanted him so badly.

Oh dear God, he really did.

* * *

“Thor left,” Loki admitted, some days later, back resting on Tony’s chest, the other man’s legs bracketing his sides. The bed sheet had slipped and fallen to the ground some time ago, but it was warm in the room, and Loki enjoyed the feel of Tony’s skin on his own naked body.

Tony snatched the cigarette from Loki’s fingers and took a drag, stubbing it out in the cheap ashtray the hospital had given Loki as a replacement. “He’ll be back.”

“Don’t think so,” Loki murmured.

Tony hadn't fucked him that first night, and Loki would've nearly died from frustration if he hadn't returned the following evening, a jar of stolen Vaseline in hand. He relished that night, adolescent fantasies coming true.

He hadn't lied to Tony that night. He really had fantasized him. Oh god, how he had wanted Stark so badly. It hadn't occurred to Loki that what he wanted was viewed as wrong. He knew, in the deep recesses of his mind, but it wasn't until his father caught him sucking off Fandral in his mother’s garden that it really hit him.

Loki had never found women appealing, in the manner that Thor, or his friends did. He couldn't do it. He couldn't pretend.

His fantasies were just that for a very long time. But as he grew older, he found he wasn't alone, and if that didn't boost his confidence and his rebellious streak, then he wasn't sure what did. Stark was the perfect source for that outlet. It wasn't like Loki was ever going to meet the musician, even if he and Thor would pretend to be rock n’rollers

He couldn't help but smile. How dreams come true.

“What about your music?” Tony asked, pressing soft kisses to Loki’s neck.

Over. Finished. So long career. Loki wasn't an idiot. He wasn't as talented at guitar as Thor was. He could sing, sure. And when he got his head out of his ass long enough, he could write a song. But he and Thor had a partnership. And despite how much he acted like he hated the man, Loki depended on Thor.

His silence was answer enough. “Yeah,” Tony muttered. “Me too.”

“What’s got you eating grapes off the wallpaper?” Loki asked.

“Look at me, Lokes,” Tony ordered. Loki turned his head to look at the man. He was getting old, sure, but that was about it. Tired eyes, maybe. “I’m a piece of worthless shit alcoholic suffering from shell shock or whatever those fucking doctor are calling it.”

“I’m a homosexual coke addict who just lost his other half,” Loki told him.

Tony laughed. “We should make music together.”

“We just did,” Loki teased, pulling Tony in for another kiss.


End file.
